


thursday boy

by andnowforyaya



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Ass Play, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Rentboys, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: “The truth isn’t anything special,” Kihyun says. “People don’t pay for the truth. They pay for lies. They pay for what I can be for them.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> i listen to too much weeknd.

_If, all I could say is if_   
_Promise me you won't regret me like the tattoos on my skin  
Like the wrong pill _

 - lonely star, the weeknd

.

A boy slides into the empty bar stool next to Hoseok, looking like he'd emerged right out from smoldering shadow, his voice sultry and breaking clean through the haze of smoke and music when he asks, “You alone, mister?”

Hoseok fixes his gaze on the stranger, drinking in the sight and allowing the image to whet his appetite. The boy must be around Hoseok's age but carries such an air of insouciance that he appears younger, his smirk like that of a teenager who got away with skipping curfew one too many times. His tousled hair burns auburn in the light reflected off the stage, where a female singer is crooning an old jazz tune to the bare, mournful sounds of an upright bass and saxophone. He’s wearing an open black cardigan that sweeps down his arms and puddles in his lap, the sleeves extending past his fingers. Underneath, Hoseok can see a netted top, the peak of a dusky nipple visible through the mesh. Hoseok’s gaze roams over the black cut-offs that end high on the boy’s thighs. There’s a teasing expanse of skin before the tops of the boy’s soft boots begin, over his knees. Hoseok wants to dig his fingers into the exposed flesh, see what marks he can leave.

“Like what you see?” the boy asks huskily after he's allowed Hoseok a cursory look. His fingers dance over the rim of a glass on the bar, his drink. Hoseok wonders how long he’s been nursing it, how many drinks he’s had. The boy’s eyes are dark and a bit clouded over like he’s rolling on something, his makeup accentuating his lashline and the cat-like shape of his eyes.

Hoseok scoffs and turns back to his drink, a smirk on his lips. He’d kept his lip piercing in tonight, and he tongues at the hoop absent-mindedly, pulling his leather jacket tighter around his body. It’s still wet from the torrential rain outside. He’d left in a hurry only carrying the essentials, of which a fucking umbrella didn’t seem to be one.

“I’m already paying for my drinks,” Hoseok says. “Didn’t come here to pay for something I could get for free.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hoseok can see the boy pout, his lips pink and glossy. They’re not in the best part of town but they’re not in the worst either; he wonders if the boy has an arrangement with the lounge, or if he’s just looking for some cash and a bed for the night. Regardless, it’s too obvious what he’s after, and Hoseok doesn’t much like it when it’s easy.

“You can’t get what I’ve got for free,” the boy says, turning back to the bar, also. He looks disappointed, and inexperienced enough not to hide it. He plays with the tiny straw in his drink and brings it to his lips, pushing it between the seam and licking it clean before doing it again and then placing it daintily on a small square napkin on the bar.

Despite himself, Hoseok is intrigued. He didn’t come out tonight for any particular reason except to have some time to himself to think, but sometimes thinking’s not the thing, and to be entirely truthful Hoseok’s always been shit at doing things by himself. He always needs another -- a partner, a vessel.

“What’s so special about you?” Hoseok asks, catching the boy by surprise. He blinks at Hoseok. He’d been expecting to be rebuffed, Hoseok realizes.

“Special?” the boy asks, fluttering his lashes. His cardigan falls open further, revealing a sloped, bare shoulder.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, licking his lips. “Convince me I don’t want to be alone.”

The boy grins, sharp-toothed. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ain’t nothing special about me, mister.”

“There’s always something,” Hoseok presses, finding himself turning again to face the other, leaning one elbow against the bar. The singer has started another song.

“Nah,” the boy says. “I’m just a whore.”

He puts his elbow on the bar, too, mirroring Hoseok, and then pillows his chin in the palm of his hand, the sleeve of the cardigan falling to reveal a slim wrist, delicate, the dark shadings of a small tattoo just barely visible to Hoseok on the inside of it. Hoseok has his own share of ink on his skin -- a sleeve down his right arm and words across one of his thighs -- and he thinks about shedding the boy’s clothing, piece by piece, to see what other marks the boy possesses.

The statement is a plain one, but there’s something behind the boy’s words -- a truth, a pridefulness -- that stings. He’s grinning again, a playful twist to his lips, and then Hoseok understands. The boy isn’t _just_ anything; he could be everything. He could mold himself into whatever Hoseok needs tonight, and still have enough leftover for his own sanity. He’s said the words before, to others, who will have taken them and interpreted them in their own ways, their brains shuttering through image after image of the boy in whatever they like, whatever they want, a slideshow of their fantasies.

He’s beautiful, Hoseok thinks, and empty the way a fire is nothing until it sucks up all the oxygen in the room. And Hoseok is drawn to him, too, the way an insect is to flame.

Hoseok sips at his drink, taking his time as the boy waits on the edge of his seat. “What’s your name, kid?”

His fingers dance along the rim of the glass again. “What do you want it to be?”

“Whatever’s real,” Hoseok says, taking a final pull from his drink and pushing the empty glass away from him.

The boy frowns subtly. It makes him look young. “It’s Kihyun,” he says in a whisper.

Now it is Hoseok’s turn to grin, pleased with himself, with the truth. “I’m Wonho,” he says, choosing to use the name he uses on stage. He likes the way it rolls off his tongue.

Kihyun repeats it, his voice curling around the syllables, and Hoseok decides he likes how Kihyun says his name, like it’s powerful, like it could breathe Wonho into existence.

“That’s not real, is it?” Kihyun asks, his head tilted, his eyes brightening from the dull shadows that had plagued his irises before. Perhaps, before, what Hoseok had taken for a drug-induced haze was merely boredom.

“It’s as real as your name,” Hoseok says.

“Are you going to get another drink?”

“Depends,” Hoseok says, humming. “Are you?”

Kihyun takes his glass between the fingers of both his hands and bites his bottom lip, hiding a cheeky smile. “Still working on this one.”

“How many club sodas have you had tonight, then?” Hoseok asks, nodding at Kihyun’s drink.

Kihyun doesn’t exactly flush, but Hoseok thinks it’s a near thing. He says, “Not supposed to drink on the clock, mister.” A smirk. He thinks he’s so smart. For the first time since the boy sat down beside him Hoseok feels something more than a base attraction towards him.

“Shame,” Hoseok says, waving down the bartender and ordering another drink for himself. “And a vodka cranberry for the kid.”

Kihyun shoots him a sharp glance but says nothing, accepting the drink the bartender makes for him with both hands. “Guess I can’t refuse if a client pays for it,” Kihyun says, eyeing Hoseok meaningfully.

“Guess so.” The drink Hoseok has ordered is whiskey-based, ending on a spicy note. It tingles as it travels down his throat, warming the pit of his stomach. Kihyun drinks in tiny, careful sips, his lips puckered around the thin straws. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says with a sigh. “What’s the story of Kihyun?”

Kihyun makes a noise low in the back of his throat like a hum and closes his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions, mister.”

“I’m a singer,” Hoseok offers. “My band is local and we’ll probably never make it big, and we hurt each other more than we should, but we stay together anyway because none of us know how to do anything else. Your turn.”

“I’m a singer, too,” Kihyun begins. “Or, I was. I couldn’t make it in a broken industry so I quit and turned to the one thing that I’m really good at.”

“Sex?” Hoseok asks.

Kihyun shakes his head. “Anticipating the needs of others.”

Hoseok grins, the ring in his lip pulling slightly. “A unique skill to have,” he acknowledges. “Now, tell it again, only this time tell me the truth.”

Kihyun cards his fingers through his hair, pushing the soft strands back from his forehead. He swivels in his seat, gaze fixed at some point over Hoseok’s head as he thinks. “I modeled for a bit,” he says. “But one of my photographers said I could make more money this way, so I took him up on it.”

“Not saying you’re not beautiful,” Hoseok says, the compliment falling easily from his lips, “but I find that hard to believe.”

“Why’s that?” Kihyun asks, not denying the lie, regarding Hoseok with slightly hooded eyes. His drink is nearly finished, as is Hoseok’s.

“You don’t strike me as someone who’d be so easily convinced because of money.”

“Not just money,” Kihyun says. “A model with self esteem issues and rent to pay, a complex towards pleasing, and who thrives on praise. It could have worked.”

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”

“The truth?” Kihyun asks, licking at his bottom lip and peering up at Hoseok through thick, long lashes. “I’m a trust fund baby looking for thrills.”

“I’ll tell you your story,” Hoseok says, removing the glass from Kihyun’s hand and replacing it with his fingers. “Your parents kicked you out when you were a teenager, or you ran away. You stayed with friends for a while, convincing yourself that you’d be fine on your own. Eventually, your friends fell away, one by one, but it was okay because you found something you were good at, and stuck with it.”

Kihyun’s fingers stiffen in Hoseok’s hold. When he tries to pull away, Hoseok tightens his grip, and Kihyun stills.

“How much of that was right?” Hoseok asks.

“You forgot the part in the story where the boy wakes up in the hospital alone.” He turns over his hand in Hoseok’s, the back of his hand resting in Hoseok’s palm. The tattoo on his wrist is a small, black semi-colon. Hoseok brushes his thumb over it as Kihyun watches. It is slightly raised, especially over his tendons and veins. “You know what this means?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says.

“The truth isn’t anything special,” Kihyun says. “People don’t pay for the truth. They pay for lies. They pay for what I can be for them.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at that,” Hoseok says. He doesn’t miss the way Kihyun shifts in his seat, the way his gaze flickers up to Hoseok’s beseechingly, the hard jump of his pulse at his wrist. “But I don’t want any of your lies tonight, Kihyun. And I’m only going to say that this once. Understand?”

He watches how Kihyun swallows, the bobbing motion of his throat. “Yes,” Kihyun whispers, looking at Hoseok with large eyes.

“Good,” Hoseok praises, rubbing his thumb again over the tattoo on Kihyun’s wrist, then using the same hand to cup Kihyun’s cheek. Kihyun leans into the touch instinctively, his eyelids fluttering closed, his lips parted. “Good boy.”

.

Hoseok takes Kihyun to the hotel across the street on the corner. Neither of them have an umbrella, so by the time they reach the lobby they have to shake the rain from their hair. The woman behind the front desk takes one look at them and gives them a room on the fifth floor, telling them in a monotone voice not to break anything. She seems to recognize Kihyun, as he flashes her a smile she doesn't quite return as Hoseok herds Kihyun into the elevator.

“You bring everyone around here?” Hoseok asks when the doors slide shut, watching Kihyun's expression shift in the mirrored walls.

“Everyone brings _me_ ,” Kihyun says with something mischievous gleaming behind his eyes. “Bora-noona is nice. Always makes sure there's room.”

“You live in the area?”

“Why?” Kihyun asks, holding Hoseok's gaze. “Want to follow me home?” The elevator jolts to a stop and the doors open shortly after. Neither of them steps out.

“Just making conversation, Kihyun,” Hoseok says with a grin, holding the door with his foot. He gestures with a sweep of his hand for Kihyun to lead the way.

Kihyun moves, and says, “Is that what you're paying for? Conversation?”

“That's right,” Hoseok says, watching the sway of Kihyun's hips as he walks slightly in front of him, the end of the cardigan just dusting over the curve of his ass. And those thighs, the pale backs of them. Hoseok's mouth waters. “It's part of what I want. A little give and take.”

“But no lies,” Kihyun says. He stops in front of a door. Hoseok has the room key, and he waits patiently as Hoseok takes it out of his jacket pocket and slips it into the lock. “Do you like making things difficult?”

“I've been told it's part of my charm,” Hoseok says. He pushes the door open.

Not a moment later, Kihyun has him pushed against the wall on the other side of it, his lips already working down Hoseok's jaw, his arms around Hoseok's neck. Hoseok spreads his legs to accommodate Kihyun, his hands falling to the smaller man’s waist. Kihyun presses himself flush against Hoseok's front as the door slams shut, and Hoseok fumbles to hit the lights in the room before giving up and letting Kihyun pull him towards the bed in the dark, the smaller man eager in his movements, flashes of his skin shining brightly whenever he shifts.

“In a hurry?” Hoseok asks when Kihyun pushes down on Hoseok's shoulders to make him sit on the edge of the mattress. The springs creak and dig into the backs of his legs.

Kihyun straddles him, his thighs spread obscenely over Hoseok, the fabric of his shorts straining over the stretch. He slips out of his damp cardigan like it is water, and it dribbles from his hands into a black puddle onto the floor. Under the mesh of his top, his nipples are tight and dark, his chest and stomach lovely, flat planes of muscle and skin. “Would you prefer that I not answer if I don't want to tell the truth?”

“It was an innocent question, Kihyun,” Hoseok breathes against his mouth, as Kihyun's hands, small and thin and light, come up to cup Hoseok's cheeks and Hoseok takes off his jacket, throwing it somewhere across the room. Underneath, he’s wearing a plain gray v-neck.

“So’s mine.”

“Hardly anything about you seems innocent,” Hoseok says.

“Is that what you want?” Kihyun asks, sliding his hips forward until their crotches are brushing against each other, and Hoseok has to hold back a groan from the feather-soft sensation that feels like fingers brushing over his length. Kihyun holds Hoseok's face in his hands and leans in to kiss him again, a thorough exploration of Hoseok's mouth with his tongue, ending with Hoseok's bottom lip ring between his teeth as he pulls away. “You want something innocent?”

“That's not what I said, Kihyun.”

Kihyun gasps, and the tips of his fingers dig into Hoseok’s cheeks slightly. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Saying my name,” Kihyun whispers. “Like you're taunting me.” He leans forward aggressively and, with a soft growl, topples them over onto the mattress so that Hoseok is flat on his back and Kihyun is hovering over him, straddling him still. One of Kihyun’s hands begins to snake up under Hoseok’s shirt as they kiss, his fingers cold but making heat bloom wherever he touches. Hoseok allows Kihyun to take the lead, amused, smiling against the kisses and tiny nips of Kihyun’s teeth on his skin.

Kihyun moves like a fever, slow and creeping, building in intensity, his breath ghosting over Hoseok’s skin, his hands kneading muscle and starting to soothe the ache that resides deep in Hoseok’s bones. He’d thought Kihyun inexperienced when he first approached Hoseok at the bar, but now he realizes how wrong he’d been, how that guise of inexperience had drawn Hoseok in. Maybe that’s what Kihyun had been planning all along.

Kihyun removes their shirts, lays Hoseok back down and presses their chests together so that Hoseok can feel the rapid rhythms of their heartbeats against each other. His thumb finds the silver bar of Hoseok’s nipple piercing and brushes over it teasingly, over and over until Hoseok is gasping and arching into the touch. Kihyun’s laugh is soft and breathless.

“Too easy,” he says.

“Wasn’t there something you said earlier about being good at anticipating the needs of others?” Hoseok teases. His hand comes up behind Kihyun’s head, and he pushes his fingers through the soft strands near the base of Kihyun’s skull, making a fist and pulling slightly. Kihyun has to curve his spine to adjust, his lips wet and red from where he’d been sucking a mark over Hoseok’s right nipple.

“You like this,” Kihyun says, confident, smirking with his shining lips.

“But it’s not what I need,” Hoseok says, tightening his grip in Kihyun’s hair, treasuring the way Kihyun’s face tightens as he tries not to wince.

Instead, Kihyun pushes himself up higher, his palms on Hoseok’s chest. “And what do you need?”

“Kihyun,” Hoseok says, keeping his voice low and sitting up slowly. Kihyun follows him without needing to be told, his body malleable, as Hoseok shifts their positions so that Kihyun is lying under him, now. “I need to see how long you can stand me without cumming, or maybe how many times I can make you cum in one night.” He releases his hold on Kihyun’s hair and brushes his fingers through it a few times, soothing. “I need to see you beg. I need to see you fall apart under my hands.”

Kihyun doesn't move, his eyes so dark they look black. His breathing is steady, slow, and deliberate. He swallows twice before he can find the words to say, and even then his voice breaks, like it is the first time he’s using it. “That costs extra.”

“But isn’t that what you need?” Hoseok asks, smiling gently, his lips closed. Carding his fingers through Kihyun’s hair.

“How do you know what I need?” Kihyun asks, wonder in his eyes, shifting his legs so that Hoseok can fit himself more comfortably between them.

“You think you hide yourself so well, Kihyun,” Hoseok says. “But I can tell. We’re made of the same stuff, baby.”

Kihyun’s eyelids flutter at the term of endearment, and he relaxes almost imperceptibly underneath Hoseok. A moment passes in silence, their breaths falling to the same pattern. Outside, a car’s tires squeal as it pulls away from a stop. He doesn’t look at Hoseok when he says, “Then do whatever you like.”

Hoseok strips Kihyun and then himself. He takes a moment to admire Kihyun’s body, the hollows of his collarbones and pelvis, the way his cock curves slightly to the left. He hovers over Kihyun, trailing fingers over Kihyun’s ribcage and finding scars to explore and kiss, each kiss making Kihyun gasp. When he reaches Kihyun’s lips, he doesn’t kiss him, though Kihyun strains slightly forward to meet Hoseok halfway. Hoseok smirks at the display of neediness, already anticipating how lovely the scene will play out. He hopes he's right about Kihyun.

“Hands and knees,” Hoseok says.

Kihyun turns without a sound, scrambling at first and then slowing in an attempt not to look overly eager, situating himself on the mattress and peering over his shoulder at the other man.

Hoseok licks his lips. He settles behind Kihyun and places his palms on the globes of Kihyun’s ass, spreading Kihyun’s cheeks slightly and leaning forward to place a soft kiss over the tight furl of Kihyun’s hole. Kihyun’s hips jump forward, a noise getting caught in his throat. When Hoseok looks at him, the tips of Kihyun’s ears are red. “What are your safe words?”

Kihyun blinks. “Don't have those,” he says, not meeting Hoseok’s gaze.

“That won’t do,” Hoseok says, gently chastising, his hands already kneading Kihyun’s cheeks. He can feel Kihyun start to push back against him. “We’ll go simple so you can remember. Yellow for slow. Red for stop.”

“I won’t use them,” Kihyun argues petulantly, letting his head fall between his shoulders, his chin nearly touching his chest. The blades of his shoulders jut out sharply like this.

“You’ll use them with me,” Hoseok says. He punctuates his words by squeezing Kihyun’s muscles hard, and Kihyun stutters out a groan, falling to his elbows. When Hoseok releases him, there are vivid red handprints on Kihyun’s cheeks. “Say them.”

“Red and yellow,” Kihyun says obediently. “Like traffic lights.”

“Good.” Satisfaction heats Hoseok’s gut, and arousal. He’s excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Things are good for him outside of this, in general, but Hyunwoo isn’t one who often willingly relinquishes control. And sometimes Hoseok just -- wants. And Kihyun is such a small, beautiful thing. Hoseok salivates at the thought of him wrecked and sated, because of what Hoseok did. Because of what he’s going to do.

“I still won’t use them,” Kihyun says huffily. There’s pride behind his words, and Hoseok gets it. He’d love to say he could handle anything and everything Hyunwoo could dish out, but the truth is he can’t.

He lets his hand fall down over Kihyun, fast and hard, the sting of it making his own palm buzz as Kihyun gasps with a high, breathy noise. Kihyun whips his head around to glare at Hoseok over his shoulder, and Hoseok bites into his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “You can tell me to stop,” he says.

But Kihyun doesn’t.

He doesn't tell Hoseok to stop when Hoseok teases him open with slicked-up fingers and he doesn't tell Hoseok to stop when Hoseok fucks him like that, with Kihyun on his elbows and knees and panting wetly into the sheets. When Hoseok pulls out to cum over the small of Kihyun's back, Kihyun encourages him with little praises, maybe thinking that it's over.

But for Hoseok sex has never really been just about sex, and he's not done. Far from it.

Kihyun is starting to rise when Hoseok swipes his fingers through the spunk over Kihyun's back and drags slick digits over Kihyun's stretched hole, dipping inside of him with two fingers, playing with him, and Kihyun falls back onto his elbows, crying out softly in surprise.

His hole twitches around Hoseok's fingers, and Hoseok grins. “Did you think we were done?”

“Why couldn’t you be easy and just fuck me and pay?” Kihyun says through his teeth, his cheek pillowed on the mattress as Hoseok slides his fingers in and out slowly.

“But you haven’t cum yet, Kihyun,” Hoseok says, purposefully using the other’s name to see his reaction, and sure enough Kihyun tightens around him, his breath catching on the inhale. Hoseok scissors his fingers as he pulls out, eyes flicking to where Kihyun’s hand is curling into a tight fist over the sheets. Kihyun shudders, and it is more pronounced precisely because he has tried to contain it. “Just say the word, and I’ll go.”

Kihyun regards Hoseok over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. Hoseok slips in another finger alongside the two, hooking them slightly and twisting, searching for the spot that will make Kihyun see white and tingle all over. When he does find it, Kihyun’s shoulders tense and his toes curl. He doesn’t breathe, tight and hot around Hoseok, trying so hard to hold himself together, as Hoseok presses his fingers against that spot inside of him relentlessly, drawing out the pleasure.

“You can let go,” Hoseok whispers. His other hand curls around Kihyun’s hip, stroking him lightly. His dick is taking interest again, already.

Kihyun groans and presses his face into the mattress. “F-fuck,” he gasps out, muffled. He pushes back against Hoseok’s fingers. When he lets Hoseok see his face again, the liner around his eyes is smudged, his mouth open in a soft circle.

He looks beautiful, and Hoseok’s heart skips a beat in his chest, caught by the devastated expression on Kihyun’s face. It feels as though Kihyun is looking past him and into the very core of Hoseok, fingers gripped around the things that make him real and pulling them to the surface. Hoseok examines Kihyun the same way he is being examined by Kihyun. He sees in the deep pools of Kihyun’s eyes a need to be understood, and accepted. Here is a Kihyun laid-bare for Hoseok to play with as he pleases: vulnerable. _If you hurt me,_ Kihyun’s eyes seem to say, _it’s only because I wanted you to._

“That’s it,” Hoseok says encouragingly. “Good boy.”

Kihyun mewls, back arching, a flush rising to his cheeks. The praise ruins him and releases him. Hoseok grins; he’d been right about Kihyun, and it thrills him.

Hoseok sets only one rule: Kihyun is not to touch himself. He fucks Kihyun with his fingers slowly, slow enough to keep Kihyun straddling the edge of his orgasm, and then pausing periodically to massage Kihyun’s thighs and hips, to encourage him to relax. After a few rounds of this, Kihyun’s moans have climbed in pitch and frequency, his face buried against his forearm as he trembles. His asscheeks are pink, and his hole is glistening with lube.

“Please,” he begs. “Just let me cum.”

Kihyun screams when Hoseok shoves his fingers deep into him and curls them slightly; he whines when Hoseok’s other hand falls against his backside with a loud snap of skin against skin, leaving a brilliant red mark. His hips twitch, almost making Hoseok pull out, but Hoseok follows the movement and steadies him with the same, warm hand.

As Kihyun settles into place, Hoseok strikes him again in the same spot. Kihyun tightens around him, gasping, his stomach crunching and making his knees shift on the bed. “Fuck, Wonho,” he manages to whisper, sounding wrecked. So Hoseok strikes him again and Kihyun writhes on his fingers.

“You like that?” Hoseok asks. “Huh, you little slut? My fingers in your ass while I spank you?”

Kihyun’s answer is a moan. His spine arched in a sinuous curve. His elbows aren’t holding him up anymore. Hoseok starts fucking him slow again, with his fingers, using his other hand to knead the tender, hot, bruising flesh over his asscheek.

“You do,” Hoseok surmises gleefully. “You just want to be a good boy for me, don’t you? Could you cum just from this?”

“Yes,” Kihyun gasps. So Hoseok pulls out and sits back onto his ankles, watching Kihyun’s hole twitch around nothing. Kihyun sobs, protesting. “No, please -- don’t stop.”

Hoseok moves closer until he can sit cross-legged behind Kihyun, gripping his hips. He spreads Kihyun open with his thumbs and moves him until he can blow against Kihyun’s hole. Kihyun shudders, whining, kicking his feet on the bed like a tantruming child. “ _Please_.”

He reaches around Kihyun to grip Kihyun’s length in one hand, feeling the weight of him in his palm. “You’re so hard,” Hoseok whispers. “You’re so close.” Kihyun is wet at the tip, pre-cum dripping from the head of his cock and down onto the bed, down his shaft. Hoseok wraps a fist around him and drags it up and down slowly, pumping Kihyun.

“I’m so close,” Kihyun repeats, agreeing, his breathing ragged. He pushes his hips against Hoseok’s fist, seeking more heat and friction. “Please, please, please.”

Hoseok lets go, though, and skims the nail of his longest finger along the underside of Kihyun’s dick. “Begging already,” Hoseok chides. “I wanna feel you cum around me.”

“Yes,” Kihyun says, “oh, please, please.”

Hoseok turns Kihyun onto his back, and the boy immediately spreads his thighs, anticipating. His eyes are bright and glazed and Hoseok thinks Kihyun would be very pretty if he cried, but for now, it is enough to feel Kihyun pulling at Hoseok’s shoulders and wriggling underneath him to accommodate, enough for Hoseok to slide into Kihyun in one long stroke, the smaller man keening, fingernails digging into Hoseok’s back.

“God,” Hoseok says through gritted teeth, “you feel like velvet.”

“Please move,” Kihyun says in a small voice, holding Hoseok tightly against him. His dick is trapped between their bellies. Hoseok starts to snap his hips against Kihyun, feeling how Kihyun is already starting to tighten around him despite how much he’d played with his hole. “Wonho, I’m gonna -- it feels so good--”

“Hold on,” Hoseok demands. “Be a good boy and don’t let go, yet. I promise it’ll be better if you wait.”

Kihyun bites down onto his bottom lip, his eyes welling up with tears. “Yeah,” he breathes out, eyelids fluttering closed.

Hoseok fucks him faster. The lube squelches between them, and the force of his thrusts pushes Kihyun higher on the bed, until Hoseok is bracing himself against the headboard and Kihyun is biting so hard into his bottom lip that Hoseok wouldn’t be surprised if he were drawing blood.

“Almost,” Hoseok says. “Almost.”

Kihyun grabs Hoseok’s head and smashes their lips together, kissing him hard. Hoseok is so surprised that his hips stutter, and then he’s climaxing, and Kihyun is climaxing, spasming around him and making Hoseok see white and then black and then nothing, his ears ringing as wave after wave of pleasure wracks through him. He’s vaguely aware of Kihyun crying out, of Kihyun’s orgasm traveling through his smaller body like an earthquake, the shockwaves pulsing even after it’s over.

When he comes to, he realizes Kihyun is looking at him, eyes too bright, almost feverish. He looks terrified, so Hoseok cards his fingers through Kihyun’s hair and makes a soothing noise, and Kihyun blinks and the raw, open expression is gone. Kihyun’s bottom lip is bright with blood.

He can feel himself softening, can feel his release trickling from Kihyun’s hole. He has to get up, get a towel, clean them both up. Hyunwoo was always better at that sort of thing. With a groan, he rises slowly, his limbs feeling like they are made of lead. Kihyun stays on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

When he returns, Kihyun has curled up onto his side, back facing Hoseok. He slips onto the bed and brings the towel closer, but as soon as he touches Kihyun with it, the other man spooks, rolling over to look at Hoseok. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up,” Hoseok explains, holding up the towel. “Unless you want to sleep in dried jizz all night. I mean, be my guest.”

“Sleep?” Kihyun asks, dazed. He’s still flushed from the sex. Hoseok feels proud of that.

“I’m paying for the room for the night,” Hoseok says. “Might as well use it.”

“I’m leaving,” Kihyun says, states. He looks at Hoseok with uncertainty, and Hoseok tries very hard not to let disappointment show on his face.

“If that’s what you want.”

Kihyun doesn’t answer for a moment. His gaze travels to the windows, where the rain is still pitter-pattering against the glass. He says, looking lost, “I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Hoseok wants to grin, but he doesn’t want to scare Kihyun off, either. “Right,” he says. “Well, maybe you could stay just until the rain lets up.”

Kihyun doesn’t really help Hoseok clean up, though he points out spots on the sheets until finally Hoseok just strips the bed entirely, leaving everything on the floor. He finds a spare blanket in the closet and brings it out. Kihyun dresses in his briefs so Hoseok puts his on, too. They crawl into bed, not touching, even though Hoseok wants nothing more than to draw Kihyun close into his arms. Not much later, Hoseok is asleep.

.

Hoseok wakes alone. He checks his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, discarded the night before in one corner of the room. The rain has let up outside. All of his bills in the money-fold are gone, replaced by a note written on paper branded with the hotel’s name and slipped neatly inside, almost hidden amongst old receipts, like it didn’t want to be found. Hoseok unfolds it carefully, reading the scratchy writing with a small smile on his face.

The letters stand out starkly on the white paper. It reads: _I’m there every Thursday_.

.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. comments are greatly appreciated. come find me on twitter @ andnowforyaya <3


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